REFUGEE

half way around the world

you traveled

to live

in the land of the free

it did not matter

that the four room flat

they gave you

had scum on the wall

and filthy floors 1

after all

you slept

for four years

coveriess

bones on the dirt

under Pol Pot

and you survived

two years of torture

in the prison

guilty of nothing

but being educated

all those 17 years

you fought for justice

behind that badge

and you never thought

you'd ever see

the law

imprisoned

but there you were

on the other side of the bars

thinking only

of survival

always

of survival

you never even winced

when you had to deny

all that you were

to be selfrighteous

meant certain death

better to lie

to the mindless

and live

than to die needlessly

from arrogance

and the constant stench

and moaning

of the dying

pleasing

for a few grains of rice

did not discourage you

but instead

gave you strength

to endure

and courage

to stay among the living

your life

even in isolation was not

just your own

you had your wife

and six children

to consider

and they

were all starving

and waiting

praying

for you to return

you had to hold on

to the strength

within you

and not give in

to that iron voice

choking your throat

nor the deafening pain in your groin you could not allow your spirit to be broken

and when the day finally can-when another enemy set you free you were numb strange

how life-long enemies become allies when faced

with common destruction your cell was opened it did not matter how and you were too frail to contemplate it so shattered and scattered from the past you thought only of the present thought only of piecing

your fragmented family back together amidst the chaos and moving on through the night in the crossfire past the mass graves of rotting flesh over landmines and foot traps where relatives and close friends lay hidden beneath

their bodies impaled

on bamboo spears

there was no time

to look back

for you

child in arms

were too busy

avoiding bullets

too busy praying

that your atrophied legs

would not hit

one of the blind strings

in the darkness

the blind strings

tied to hand grenades

and you were fortunate

to miss them

but others

were not so

and you followed

the path of their bodies

and slept

among their ghosts

all the way

to the border

all the long way

to the border

and for the past

thirteen months

you've been here

trying to make this place

your home

you brought with you

few possessions

but carried your valuables

within you

and they were there

the night

the hoodlums came

barging through your door

demanding to take your son

he did not know his place

he did not understand

that saying, "shut up"

was a criminal offense

in the eyes

of the aggravators

and they

would not listen to reason

though you tried

to make them hear

experience

should have reminded you

that true blind men

have no ears

and the neighborhood gestapo

was no different

the next day

they returned

all fired

with the passion

of power

more determined than ever

to break you

to take you and your son

one threw a rock

through your window

just missing your baby

asleep on the floor

while the others ganged up

to beat you

in broad daylight

in front of the neighbors

and you hardly

felt the pain

though you mourn

the loss of your t-shirt

the gift from your students

at school

but it was not the beating

that beat you

nor the indifference

of the police

it was only

your children's expressions

and the threats

to your first son's life

that spread that look of anguish

across your weary face

and you came here

so tired of oppression

so tired

wanting only

to live in peace

to live

like a priest

and purify your soul

and you want no revenge

you ask for nothing

but to be left alone

and once more

you gather your family

to make plans

to escape in the night

Ruth DeWilde